


Unravel

by groaar



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Delusions, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Implied Relationships, Implied abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Past Relationship(s), Past-TLJ, Psychological Trauma, Self-Harm, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-03-05 19:32:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13394721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/groaar/pseuds/groaar
Summary: Imagine that all you worked so hard for lay broken and shattered before you. Imagine the stress and pressure. Imagine enduring one failure after the other: the humiliation, shame, and self-loath. Imagine then how you would feel if the one person you trusted also turned his back on you... Any normal human being would begin to slowly wither away, and yet he stubbornly clings to what is left. Like a mad cur he fights, like a mad man he crumbles.





	1. Collapse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hux and Ren used to have a functioning relationship; one in which neither party would give but both took in equal measure. It all changed the day Ren first laid hands on Hux. The balance was disrupted. It only spiraled downwards from there. Hux cannot deal and starts to crack under the pressure.

_He can’t see. Nothing. Nothing at all. It’s dark. Just black. Black, like tar, and like tar the darkness clogs his throat._  
__  
He can’t breathe. He struggles, tries to cough, but to o avail. The darkness only grows tighter. It’s devouring him from all sides, pressing against him. It’s constricting him, like fingers around his neck, pressing hard. Bruising. He screams, but there is no sound.  
__  
He can’t hear.  
__  
Or he can’t scream? There is pounding in his ears. A deep drumming. Blood. It’s pressing against his skull. The darkness: it’s trying to force its way out, and his blood…His blood is an obstacle. It’s in the way. The darkness gets what the darkness wants, and the darkness wants out. The blood needs to go. The pounding grows louder. It hurts. Everything hurts. He screams; grips and claws at his throat. There is laughter He knows that voice. It hurts.  
__  
He can’t feel.  
  
_It hurts._  
  
  
  
  
He wakes with a jerk. His breath is ragged, his clothes sweaty. Shaking; he feels himself shaking. He’s cold? Shocked? ...Scared? It was just a dream. The pale light of the datapad illuminates the room, and the soft, familiar humming of the device is calming. Soothing. It was just a dream. These are his quarters, and it was all just a dream.    
  
He gingerly stretches his arms above his head. They hurt. The dull ache that comes from sleeping in a chair mingling with a more unfamiliar pain: a sharp, jarring throb. He flinches and pulls down his arms. Back down into his lap. Closer. It feels better now. Safer. It was just a dream. He is quite sure. Quite. Quite… Tentative fingers seek out his throat, running along the skin, scraping softly at his Adam’s apple. This was real pain – an agonizing burn. An injury caused by another; an ally. It’s different from the ache in his arms. Almost. It’s  almost completely different. Almost.  
  
It was just a dream! He shakes his head, a flurry of orange. A dream. A memory?  
  
No. No. He searches his mind but cannot remember. It had to be a dream. Nothing but a dream.  
   
Yes, a dream. A dream about somebody expendable. Somebody so useless that even trying to remember them would be a complete waste of time. His time. His precious time.  
   
Worthless.  
  
He was needed. Without him they’d crumble. The Order would become chaos. A world in chaos. Everything would fall apart. He needs to keep it together. There’s heaps of work to do. Still. He needs to focus. Needs to work. Prove his worth. He’s not the dream! He glances at the datapad. The screen is illuminated by a myriad of messages. Complaints. Doubts. They need to be responded to. Now. At once. Respond in a timely manner. He needs to show them that everything is fine, and that all is under control. That all is in order. Order, not chaos. Order. Order. First there is order. The First Order.  
  
One. Two. Five message… Never ending messages. They seem to multiply. He needs caf, but no time to make any. No time to ask for any. His comlink pings but he can’t answer – has no time to answer – so it keeps beeping. Calling him. _He_ is calling. Ren is calling. But he can’t. He can’t. And it just keeps beeping. Like a bomb about to explode.  
  
A bomb. _Danger_. Franticly he grabs it, hands fumbling and fingers slipping, and he throws it. Hard and fast it flies, away, far away from him, until it collides. Exploding! He’s safe. The comm unit lies shattered on the floor. The comm. Not a bomb. A comm. Destroyed. He hadn’t answered; hadn’t answered _him_.  
  
No, no, no! He’s dreaming, surely. He has to be dreaming. He never throws things, does not break things – never acts on impulse or emotion. He hasn’t for years. Not since… since when? It’s fuzzy. He can’t recall; if there ever was anything to recall.  
  
_He_ will come now. The Supreme Leader will come. Ren will come, and it hurts so bad that Hux wants to scream! And he does. He opens his mouth and howls. His cry is silent, nothing but a gurgling, panicked sound.  
  
The pounding! The pounding in his head is back.  
  
He is unraveling. He can feel it in every fiber in his body. His frizzled thoughts, his stuttering breath, his trembling fingers. He is coming apart. He is coming apart. Breaking. Crumbling.  
  
Like Starkiller. He has become Starkiller Base as it was in its very last moments.  
  
The pulsing center breaking through, pushing out. Wild. Uncontrolled. The surface unable to keep it in. Cannot hide it. Unable to repress it. Crack, crack, many cracks. So may cracks. One after another. The ground is splitting, it’s crumbling as all that was contained is threatening to spill out. Fire. Raging and consuming. All-devouring darkness.  
  
Then there was nothing. The untamed insides destroyed it all.  
  
Everything. Gone. Particles in space. Dust.  
  
Useless dust.  
  
Starkiller gone. All they had together, everything they’d shared. Crumbled. Gone.  
  
Smothered.  
  
Nails scratching at his bruised throat. Fingers tangled into orange, pulling willfully at the unkempt, matted strands of hair. Teeth meeting flesh; cold and pale. Hard meets soft and sinks in: deep. Chewing, biting, pulling loose thin slips of skin. Blood. Lick the blood.  
  
Salty, bitter. Consuming. More. He needs more.  
  
His head is pounding. Like the core of Starkiller was, just before it blew. Maybe he will, too. Blow up into nothingness. It would be wonderful.  
  
Escape.  
  
No, No! To escape would be to lose. It would be… Would be… Failure.  
  
He is failure.  
  
Get a grip! He needs to get a grip!  
  
His fist slams into the table. Hard. The steel surface is hard.  
  
Thankfully the pounding moves, from his head to his hand, so he can focus. Focus on breathing. Long breaths. Long and controlled. Controlled. He is order. He is control.  
  
Control is good. The heat is receding. Pulling back. Retreating. The core is cooling. It leaves him cold, calm, collected. Cool. Good. It is good. This is how he really is. CCCCCC: Cold, Calm, Cool, Controlled, Collected, Calculating. A mantra: CCCCCC , he repeats it. CCCCCC. It helps. It helps him focus, tame the fire.  
  
The pounding is in the hallway now. Approaching.  
  
_He_ is here now. Ren is here.  
  
He can’t breathe, but it’s alright. He knows what to do, knows how to level the pressure. He thumbs his forearm, prodding. Searching, methodically, until he finds it. The weakness. And he invades. Digs down his nail, drags it unhurriedly down the blue pale skin. Nothing at first, then blood springs forth. Not much, a shallow river slowly clotting along his arm, but enough to even the pressure – enough for air to gain access to his blood, capillaries, and lungs.  
  
His inner calms, and merges with the outside. He can breathe again.  
  
Calm.  
  
He can face _him_ – Ren – now. Hux can face _him_ despite the hurt.  
  
He can fool _him_ this time, too.  
  
Fool himself, too.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erratic and fragmented. I guess that describes both me and my style of writing.
> 
> Usually I don't picture Hux being one to succumb under pressure, but something just came over me today and this piece was born before I could say or do anything about the matter. It was a way for me to work through a patch of negative emotions, so I apologize if I made Hux come across slightly OOC. 
> 
> On the other hand, I am convinced that anyone, no matter past experiences or personality, would break under the right circumstances.
> 
> I hope you found at least some joy in reading, and feel free to leave a comment if you would like.  
> Thank you !


	2. Invade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kylo takes a plunge into the deep end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had not planned to continue, but then this happened. I just want to see where this goes, if anywhere. I'm experimenting. It's fun, and apparently that's all it takes.

**Boots stomping down the hallway,**  
  
Some people see the world in black-and-white. Dark and light. Sith and jedi. A clear divide; well-balanced and easy to comprehend. Kylo, however, sees the world differently. In his world white does not exist. Not anymore. Not for a long time. Not since he turned his back to the light. Yet, there is something else. Not an opposite to the dark surrounding him, but rather a contrast.  
  
An abundance of black streaked with bouts of red hot rage.  
  
**and coming to a stop**  
  
Red. The colour speaks to him; to his anger. It is the flame that lights his lightsaber ablaze and causes his blood to boil. Red is the very essence of his hatred, and perhaps this is what had sparked the conflict between him and Hux. The General’s burning hair. It had beckoned him, bated him, and his rage had followed. Red had been attracted to red, accumulated, merged, and exploded in a cacophony of insults and outrage.  
  
Kylo hated him with a passion from the get-go; hates him with passion still. Always passion whenever Hux is concerned.  
  
**in front of a steel door.**  
  
The door to Hux’s quarters slips open and Kylo stomps in. It is dark. The only source of light is the dim glow of the datapad which Hux is currently devoting all his attention to. His pallid face is bruised. His neck, decorated by a ring of blue and purple roses, looks even worse. The circles around his eyes are dark, cheeks hollow, eyes glazy. Hux looks sick and weak; as if the smallest nudge of the force was all it would take in order to make him topple over.   
  
**A door to a room –**  
  
No matter. Hux needed to know his place, and Kylo would remind him as many times as necessary. The thought of simply killing Hux had certainly crossed his mind several times. Just look at the man: weak and pathetic. It’d be so easy. But why find a replacement when there still was some life left in the old one? Especially as watching Hux deteriorate – watching that perfect facade crack and crumble – had always been one of his favourite pastimes.  
  
**a room where he used to feel at home.**  
  
“I commed you.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“You did not pick up.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“My comlink is broken.”  
  
“But your heard me comm?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“How?”  
  
“It broke mid-call.”  
  
“What broke?”  
  
“The comlink.”  
  
“How?”  
  
“It broke.”  
  
**Now it feels cold.**  
  
Kylo can feel irritation shooting through his nerves. A dog should respect its master. A dog should come when called upon. Hux had never, not once, failed to report to Snoke, but all of Hux’s respect to leadership seemed to have died with the old shrivelled man. Kylo won’t allow it. He will not. Never! All he asks for is respect and obedience, for the dog to obey its master.  This cur though, he has proven himself to be rather stubborn.  
  
**Unwelcoming, and off limits.**  
  
“HOW?”  
  
“…”  
  
“You will tell me!”  
  
“It… exploded.”  
  
“You’re lying!”  
  
**It stings.**  
  
Hux should know better, than to keep the truth from Kylo.

He thought that they had made some progress in the past weeks, and that Hux was starting to recognise his rightful place (licking Kylo’s boots). Apparently he had been wrong, too naive. Hux would not break that easily.  
  
No matter.  
  
Kylo will teach him. He’ll have Hux come on command. Sit, lay, attack, and piss on command, if it proves necessary. He’ll keep going until Hux has either learnt, or died while at it. Both options are equally fine.  
  
Kylo plunges into the deep dark vastness that is Hux’s mind.  
  
**Why?**  
  
Kylo can’t count the number of times he’s preformed this deed, been inside more minds than he cares to remember. He knows the process inside and out, can tamper and control it to suit his needs. Tailor the experience, provide a custom-made adventure. Sure, no mind is exactly alike another, but there is surprisingly little difference. Everyone wants to believe they are special, that they matter, but Kylo knows that the exact opposite is true. Very few are irreplaceable.  
  
**He doesn’t need the relief anymore,**  
  
Kylo has looked into Hux’s mind on a few occasions in the past. He has scratched at the surface to gain advantage and knowledge. Nothing out of the ordinary has ever struck him. Yet, groping around in Hux’s head now, he feels lost.  
  
Everything is chaotic – different, and out of place.  
  
Quiet.  
  
It compares to nothing he has seen before. Thoughts fly by like shooting stars, fragmented pieces of a greater puzzle. It’s fascinating, all while terrifying. He can’t find the ground he needs to root himself into Hux’s mind, but floats around like a piece of debris in space.  
  
The silence is oppressive. No one’s inner should be this quiet. Could not be.  
  
**right?**  
  
He hones in on the comm. Focuses. He lets himself be overcome by the feelings of rage and annoyance the breach in respect had given raise to.  
  
Something flickers to his right, and Kylo lunges. He reaches out to his side and clutches onto the sliver of a thought drifting by.    
  
_No time. Needed to eliminate the danger. Danger. All around you is danger. Beeping. No time. Had to get rid of it before it exploded. I exploded? Made him explode._  
  
Kylo shakes his head, can feel the hair brushing his cheeks. He tries to focus on the thought, the comm, but it keeps slipping out of his grasp. He tries to follow but the thought is gone. It has disappeared from this part of Hux’s mind, and despite looking in all places that seem logical Kylo can find it nowhere.  
  
Minds are different but they all follow a certain pattern; logical and predictable. Ideas, emotions, aspirations, memories, they all leave a trace to pursue. More skilled individuals may be able to conceal these remnants to a certain degree, making their thoughts more elusive and harder to find, but Kylo cannot remember ever experiencing something like this.  
  
Hux is not skilled, not in this. Rather, it is as if Hux himself has no inclination of where his previous thought wandered off to.  
  
_He is acting strange. Out of order? Yes, a panel in the ship cantina. Note it down. Down. He wants me to give in, go down. Salt and water. Drowning. I can’t breathe. The salt is burning my lungs._  
  
Wild fragments floating around his mind, appearing and reappearing at random. Uncontrollable. They make him nauseous, out of breath. This is impossible.    
  
**So why should he care?**  
  
Something stirs.  
  
Hux.  
  
It’s Hux’s consciousness.  
  
_Is he here? He is. He is._  
  
_For real? Dream? No. No. This is real. Comm, Ren, Force. He is in my head._  
  
Ren startles, looks around in an attempt to locate the disembodied voice, but there is nothing. He can neither see nor sense anything. It can’t be. Hux cannot be conscious within his own mind. He cannot objectively view his own mind, he should be too intertwined.  
  
Yet there it is again.  
  
_Force. You think you are so mighty because of the force. Force people is all you can do. Lacking wits, lacking skill. Brute. Brutal. Kylo Ren. Always so demanding. So rough. Say my name!_  
  
Kylo throws up his mental walls, barricades and shuts himself off, but it won’t relent. The voice keeps echoing inside Hux’s head, his head. There should be plenty of material to work with yet Kylo is unable to find anything tangible to grab at.  
  
Not a hint, fragment or a remnant.  
  
Black. Nothing but black. Whirling black.  
  
**Why would it hurt?**  
  
Then he sees it. Not one thought. Not a single memory or cohesive notion, but a myriad. A school of figments: whims, feelings, opinions, ideas and grudges shoaling together to form a whirlpool.  
  
A trap. A trap of too many thoughts.  
  
_You. You’re to blame for it all. You’re root of all problems. MY problems. I am a problem. A mistake. I never make mistakes. It was a bomb, and we all would have died. You will all die._  
  
Hux’s voice, his thoughts. Spinning, hurtling, hurling. Pain. It hurts. They hurt.  
  
He needs to get out. Kylo has to leave, but the thoughts have caught him. He was wrong. It’s not a school of thoughts, but a net, and Kylo is the fish.  
  
Caught.  
  
Helpless.  
  
Hux’s eyes are burning into his. Burning through his soul.  
  
He can’t get out.  
  
**He no longer needs any of it!**  
  
Panic.  
  
Kylo can feel it building in his gut. It’s all too similar to what Snoke would do, and it makes him shiver. But this is Hux, not Snoke, and this should not be possible. Still, he is helpless to the dizziness that settles in his stomach, can do nothing to stop the bile from building up in his throat.  
  
_You were supposed to be mine._  
  
He feels his knees hit the cold metal floor, his finger curling up into his hair. Scratching at his scalp.   
  
**The normalcy.**  
  
He has to get out.  
  
_Join me, won’t you? It’ll be fun. Can you feel it? The fire burning in me. I’ll devour you. I know you taste good._  
  
That fragile casing that is keeping something bigger intact: he can feel it vibrating. If the dam bursts while he is still inside, will he ever be able to pull out again? Will he be trapped in here forever?  
  
**The warmth.**  
  
Killing Hux might be an option.  
  
_Kill. Yes, do that. Kill me. That is the next logical step. Do it! Try it! See what happens!_  
  
Kylo startles, though he should not be surprised. Considering all that is unravelling it is no wonder Hux has somehow gained access to his thoughts. He can’t ponder upon it. Hux’s presence is too overpowering. He can’t think. It hurts to think.  
  
_You’ll regret it. The Order. The Order would rail against you, will do so anyway. You are nothing alone. And you have always been alone. Alone. We are all alone. We fight alone. Die alone. Always alone, fumbling in the dark. Fumbling in the dark, oh, do you remember what fun it was?_  
  
His breath hitches, and he has to bite down on his lip in order to keep any sounds from spilling out.  
  
_He’s biting his lips. Those lips. Full lips. You don’t miss them. No. No. Pathetic. You’re pathetic! What did you think? You trusted him. Idiot! What did you think would happen? That he’d choose you?_  
  
**Useless.**  
  
_When has ever anyone chosen you? You’re not important enough. Not skilled enough. Face it. You’re alone. You’re always alone. Past – present – future. On your own. Watch your own back._  
  
Kylo opens his mouth, but before he can speak the thoughts invade. They fly in through the open gateway, fill him from the inside – fill him with all that makes up Hux. He forgets who he is. He is Hux.  
  
_The bomb. You have the bomb. I have the bomb. Should I? No, no. It would mean the destruction of the Order. But if you’re gone, does it matter? If I’m gone does the Order matter? No, you make it matter. I do. Make it matter. The bomb is tied to you. If I die it will detonate. Hidden so well, tied to your heartbeat. Yes, yes, I remember. It was your last gift to me, father. It’s fine. It’ll be my last surprise for Ren. For him._  
  
Kylo is burning. His body is liquid pooling on the floor. He can’t move. What is going on? He can’t control it.  
  
**He is so much stronger now.**  
  
_But what else could a brute like you do. All you can do is control. And kill. Even with the force all you can accomplish is destruction. The Order doesn’t want destruction. Destruction is chaos. We build. We’re the opposite. You’re my opposite. Maybe, we could have made it work? Work. I need to work._  
  
Panic. His? Hux’s? He can’t tell. It all bends and melts into one.  
  
**Powerful.**  
  
“Get out!”  
  
_Get out!_  
  
“Get out…”  
  
_Get out…_  
  
The words reverberate through his bones. Echoing. Far and near. Where?    
  
“GET OUT!”  
  
_GET OUT!_  
  
**Feared.**  
  
Without warning he’s flung out. Back in Hux’s quarters. Solid. Upright. Normal.  
  
Hux is standing before him, chest heaving. His crazed eyes are wide and droplets of sweat are clinging to his fiery, red hair.  
  
“Get out” a whisper.  
  
**_Frightened._**  
  
Kylo leaves.  
  
_**Weak.**_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit rushed and I have not had the time to proof read, but I wanted to get it out there now as I have no access to the internet for a few days. I apologize and promise to correct any mistakes later on. Or re-edit it all, who knows.  
> I just want to get an opinion. So, what do you think, you lovely person out there, should I keep going?
> 
> Thank you for always reading and sharing your thoughts on my stories!


	3. Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And Hux's downward spiral continues as he falls deeper and deeper into himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hux's issues are growing, and reaching a pretty uncontainable level. 
> 
> As always in this story the text is a bit jumbled and incoherent, but I hope you find this piece at least a little interesting.   
> (also, I just want to upload it now, and I haven't read through it properly yet, so I might go back and edit tomorrow, when I slept on it)

_Swirling... He’s swirling in space.  Out of control spinning, all sense of direction lost. Perhaps it is even so that space is in fact swirling all around him? That he is the great epicentre of it all. Now that would be marvellous. Would it really, though? Would not that be far more dangerous: to be the focus of all? Of all the swirling._

_Is it better to swirl around or to have something swirled around you? Either option sounds unfavourable. Anyway, it’s near impossible to tell… If he is swirling, or space is. Everything is a blur. Lights all around him. They’re stretching and warping, from blobs to long crooked stripes; spiralling away into the darkness. Into him._

_And they hum – sing! A soft and mechanical whirr, so familiar. A familiar song? Like a lullaby it calms him. Grounds him and keeps him still: a life-line of starlight in the dark vastness of space. But to what is he fastened? Why would he be fastened? Captured! The light pulls tighter, presses. The tendrils are wrapped around his throat! Panic blooms, flutters, then withers and dies. He resigns. Concedes. He deserves it. And they laugh as all light fades._

 

His eyes shoot open. Wide and frightened they swirl around the room. Dark – everywhere he looks he is met with an obscure gloom of shadows past. Yet his keen eyes pursue their search, desperate to find something real. Something that would suffice as proof, so that Hux may prove to himself that he is real. Back in reality. But nothing is different. _It’s because you’re always trapped._ A blackness disrupted by a blur of lights, all of them out of his reach. _Always, in the dark._ His breath catches in his throat. Panic rises as icy strands of fear creep slowly down his spine, digging its nails, sharp and relentless, deep within him as it moves. Scratching him bloody.

 

Yes. Bloody. Nails. Bloody nails! His hand rushes up to his face, gliding upwards. His palm is pressing against the windowpane in front of him. His cuticles are torn and broken, his nails bitten and gnawed. Numb and real. Hux wants to laugh, then jumps at the sound that echoes around the room. Laughter, indeed, but broken and mirthless: a madman’s laugh. He files it away for later and turns his attention back to his fingers. He finds them oddly fascinating. They are bloodied; red. _Yes, blood is red._ For some reason he had expected them to be black. _You used to believe that._ That blood would be black. _Long ago._ Blood should be black. _Because red was not a bad_ colour. It felt black. _And black was._ But it is red _._ A faded red.

 

_You were wrong. Like you always are._

 

He focuses his gaze past his hand, out the window and further out into space. Yes, he’s in a ship. Obviously. They are travelling. Light-speed! He did give that order. He is quite sure. Quite. Caught up in thought, as he is, wondering, all around him fades. It makes him less alert, unprepared, and when all abruptly comes to a halt it racks his balance. Hux knows, _you do,_ his balance should not be affected on this big a ship. Yet the floor gives away and he falls over, head smashing into the window.

 

_CRACK!_

 

Something cracks, but Hux cannot be bothered. It is either the window, but that is not likely. He knows they are strong. He knows the ship, inside and out. He does! Better than anyone. So if not the glass, then it was his head. And in that case all is just fine. What is one more crack?   _Yes, just one more._ Surely he can take one more. He has enough safe passages to walk along, bridges that have held firm for years letting him cross the ravines of drooling, howling and snarling thoughts that want to drag him down. _That want to drown you._ He’ll be fine as long as he sticks to the bridges…

 

_What have you forgotten, Huxy?_

 

Bridge. He is not on the bridge _. Good, considering._ Bad, extremely bad. When did he leave? Did _he_ leave? Hux cannot recall leaving. Doesn’t know how he got here Or when he got here. What happened on the way here? He gave the order to move into light-speed, yes. _Probably._ He does still have a firm hold on order. _Do you, though?_ The First Order: yes, they would not act without him. _But what about after? But t_ hen what did he do? _Swirling._ All he sees is swirling.

 

Hux clenches his fists. He cannot see them, but feels them go white and numb. He concentrates. He needs to remember, needs to sort through his head. So he breaths in, shrinks, and enters. Breathing out he finds himself running along those safe roads he’s built over the years. Looking; searching for any fragments. But there is nothing to retrieve. There’s only him, on the bridge. He is on his bridge and sees nothing but himself on the bridge. _Keep looking. You’ll lose face._ He stumbles on, feet tripping over one another. The need to know is driving him. Pushing him to advance harder and faster.

 

There is a drumming, calling out to him. A humming? _A voice?_ He hones in on it, makes it his beacon. _Come!_ He can hear it calling.

Then the mad dash comes to a halt. A crack! In the road there is a crack.  Not big, but intimidating nonetheless. Definitely not safe to pass here. _Hmm, what a shame._ Whirling around, choosing another path. Stopping to listen. _Looking for me?_ Yes, the voice is still there.

 

Run. Then… another one. A bigger one. Wider. _Aah, and you thought you were safe._  He tries again, another way, but to no avail. There are too many cracks. So many cracks! He had no idea. _But you did._ He never imagined. _Oh, how could you not have known?_ Hux shakes his head in disbelief. _Such an oversight. You, the perfect you. Never makes mistakes. Yes. Do keep believing. Keep fooling yourself._ _By all means, do file it away for later._

The voice. It’s here. Hux swallows. Suddenly stiff with fear. Overcome. Terrified.

 

_Look at me, I implore you._

It beckons, and Hux cannot resist. He looks.

It’s _him._ Another Hux. Talking, mocking him, from the opposite side of the crack. Safe, and out of reach. It’s another Hux, a near replica, but _he’s_ different. Cracked. _He’s_ cracked. Like a porcelain doll would be had someone dropped it onto the floor and then tried to glue back together, only to then throw it back down again. Break it, stitch it back up again. Crack it open, fasten it with glue. Smash it, repair it. Rip it into pieces then… _No matter what you do you will never be whole again. Fixing things are hard: some pieces cannot be replaced, others have become lost to the years never to be rediscovered, and some parts accidentally put in the wrong position._ No, no. He is not… not this, this abomination. _And, just you try doing all the work on yourself by yourself. See how well it works._ It does! He functions, has always functioned.

 

The other Hux stays quiet. But he smiles. Or, at least Hux thinks he smiles. Hard to tell as the pale skin is nothing but a web of cracks. No telling where the mouth is. No telling in the capillary network of thin, barely visible CRACKS that spindle over all other-Hux.

_But you know, don’t you?_

 

I do?

 

_You do._

Yes, I do.

 

Trembling hands fumble. They nestle into the orange softness on his head. Finding the scalp his fingers start searching, digging, clawing. Hux feels sick, can taste the bile on his tongue. Swallows. He knows there are no cracks. No missing pieces. He is the ORDER. He is immaculacy. He’s… his finger catches on a sharp edge.

 

_Ah, found it, did you?_

 

No! He shakes his head. No. No. NO!

 

He pulls his hands away, and to his horror they are not his hands. They are his hands, but not. They are _the other_ Hux’s hands: cracked beyond recognition. Shattered to the point where Hux is frightened that any degree of impact, no matter how small, will cause them to crumble and turn into dust. You can’t glue dust back together. Dust will scatter and be forever gone. _That would suit us._

 

Frantic, he hurls around. He looks at his face in the mirror. _No, not a mirror._ Windowpane! Cracked. There’s blood, red _(black)_ running down his forehead. A red stripe that colours the side of his face. _Mother always did say it would do us good to get some colour on our cheeks._ _She’d be proud now._ Yes. She would not think kindly of that one big crack running across his face though. Deforming him. Dividing him into two. Like he is.

 

_Like we are? We are the same._

_Only one._

“I am NOT you” Hus shouts out into the empty space, no one but the stars as his audience.

 

_Fine._

_I know you know the truth, though._

No!

 

_Come. I’ll whisper it to you._

And he does. And Hux knows. He always knew.

 

_What did you know?_

No. He won’t say it. Won’t think it. Can’t think it. Cannot allow himself to do so. That would be destruction. Self-destructing.

 

_But you are already done for. You know. That’s what you know: that you’ve always been a bit broken._

Hux whines, curls in on himself. Covers his ears. Shaking. And the bile is back. He cannot swallow it all. So he sobs and retches. It gets on his hands. They are cold and clammy. He is cold all over. Sweaty.

 

No. He screams. In his head, he screams. Screams to _the other_. It is all lies. Filthy lies!

 

_But it isn’t. You are the filthy one. The liar. The filthy liar._

Yes. He is. But he has always been in control. But now… He can’t remember. He cannot. Cannot. CANNOT! And he can’t control what he can’t see. Can’t fix the things he can’t remember. _Despicable._ Dirtly. _Worthess_. Scum. _Cannot even control himself_. He cannot control himself.

 

He laughs. Or howls?

 

It is not fun. But he has to laugh, because what is the alternative? Crying?

 

_Ridiculous._

 

Yes. Utterly ludicrous. But he feels so alone now. He lost the only person he ever wholly trusted. Himself.   _Me._ He has lost himself.

 

Where do you go then?

 

 

 

“Hux?”

 

 

 

_You don’t go anywhere._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! :)
> 
> Please feel free to give me some feedback, always appreciated. 
> 
> So, that’s it for this time. I suddenly got stung by the bee of inspiration (or maybe I just wanted to write some discontinuous text and have some fun), and thus the story continues. Poor Hux. I know he is an awful guy, but still. I really like writing Hux (and Kylo) in this situation, and (believe it or not) there is actually some sort of plot to it all. I think... At least there was at some point :P


	4. Confronted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Told from Kylo's POV. Our charming Supreme Leader gets to have a very private conversation with Hux (?), who seems to have a trick or two up his sleeve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A warning: I have NOT proof-read this at all. I typed, then I posted. So, yeah, I’m sorry about that! But otherwise I would never have gotten myself into bed. I’ll edit it tomorrow. If you still feel like giving this chapter a read, have at it, my friend. :)

**Utterly ridiculous.**

It is incredulous, the speed at which the medic team operates. Mere minutes had passed since Kylo brought Hux’s limp body to the medbay, and already they had the pale man hooked up to IV’s and tucked into a sickbed. He seems stable enough, Kylo notes, as he watches the rhythmic rise and fall of Hux’s chest while absentmindedly listening to the attending medic going over the possible causes for the General’s sudden…ailment. Lack of sleep and malnutrition, they say, combined with a simple flu virus. Apparently Hux had been running on nutritional substitutes for longer than should be humanly possible – which hardly should come as a surprise as the man is more inhuman than your average droid – and finally his body had caved under the extra pressure of the infection. Alarmingly high temperatures, indigestion and hallucinations, the staff kept on droning but Kylo tuned out. It did not concern him.

 

**It’s what he would have said.**

 

His eyes lingered, though, fixated at the sickly man. Hux looked more dead than he did alive, pale to the degree where his skin could almost be called translucent. Yes, it wasn’t concern that kept him transfixed, but rather fascination. The blood vessels, eerily visible all over Hux’s skin, formed a web that encapsulated the entirety of his body. Kylo had never noticed before, never seen them so clearly, despite having had ample opportunity in the past. Maybe it was the illness?

 

**That he was weak**

 

“Sir?”

 

Kylo snapped his gaze back to the medic.

 

“Sir, I need you to sign this” she said, and thrust a document titled ‘Approval of Treatment’ into Kylo’s hands. For the fraction of a moment Kylo hesitated, letting his imagination carry him away. Not signing would mean an easy way out; like dumping garbage out into space and leaving it to take care of itself. Let it slowly rot away, much like Hux would do if left to his own devices. Although the medics had stated that the General would likely grow better with time and rest alone, full recovery could hardly be expected without proper medication. The simplicity of it all was laughable. All Kylo was required to do was to withhold his permission.

 

_You’ll lose every single scrap of hard-earned trust._

 

The voice was cold and mechanical, leaving Kylo feeling as if his mind had been pierced by icicles. His head snapped to the left, and dark eyes bored into Hux, searching intently. What he looked for, he did not know, but he knew it wasn’t there to be found. The General lay as still as ever. Those words though, could have been none other than his, and what they spoke was the truth. Kylo could not afford to lose the trust of the Order, not at this pivotal moment. If he were to get rid of Hux it needed to be carried out discreetly, and so, begrudgingly, Kylo decided to give the medics the green light.

 

**and pathetic**

He watched as the attending medic made adjustments to the machines on the far wall. She was upping the dose of sedatives, while explaining to Kylo that the General, now under proper treatment, could be expected to make full recovery within a few days. Then, with a curt nod and a polite ‘sir’ she quickly made to leave the room, clearly unwilling to spend more time than necessary with the her new Supreme Leader. Kylo snorted at her insolence. He sent the General one final glare and made to follow the medic, but only made it a few steps before another sudden spike of force exploded into his head.

 

_Utterly ridiculous._   

 

**to let anxiety get the upper hand and keep him from victory.**

Kylo inhaled sharply. He would know that voice – calculative and taunting – anywhere. It was Hux, just as it had been earlier. Two times could not be a coincidence. The urge to glance over his shoulder was immense, yet Kylo refused to give in, because he knew he would be met with nothing but a heavily sedated body. So Kylo pushed on, toward the door. He was tired and worn out, only recently having come back from a personal mission that had taken a bigger toll on him than it ought to have. It had been pure chance that he had passed the room the General had occupied: another unforeseen inconveniency for him, but pure luck for Hux. If not for Kylo the General would quite possibly have choked on his vomit; a fitting end, Kylo smiled to himself.

 

**He should have relished.**

_You should have walked away._ Kylo grit his teeth at the sudden burst of pain. This shouldn’t be possible. There was no way. Still, it wouldn’t stop.

 

_Why won’t you look at me?_ It brings him down to one knee, forcing him to brace himself against the wall. The voice, a mere whisper, yet Kylo perceives it as a scream; a shriek. It wants to come inside, the voice, and the pressure with which it pounds upon Kylo’s mind is tremendous. A relentless squeezing that much reminds him of the pain Snoke would inflict upon him during punishments.

 

**Savoured each moment.**

 

He needs to protect himself, has to find his centre. Kylo closes his eyes and breaths through the pain. He forces his racing heart to slow, to listen to his command, as he prepares his body for meditation. Gradually the pain eases as he reclaims the space surrounding him. The medical bay dissolves into nothingness as focus replaces the now, and Kylo relishes in the dark force surrounding him, licking him with the eager tongue of a desperate lover. Then he feels it: chipped lips, cold as night, moving against his ear.

 

_Yes, close your eyes and look at me._

**Let it consume him.**

The words caused Kylo’s blood to freeze, his heart to stop. He tried to resist, to pull away, but to no avail. Ice had a firm hold on his body, kept him rooted while his mind, and by extension his powers, grew numb and weak. He could but sit and wait for the unwanted connection to grow stronger. It all felt rather similar to when he communicated with the Scavenger girl, Ray, only more malicious. Kylo had yet to figure out how to initiate such contact, and sadly the same applied to severing it, too. Now, why Hux would be able to create this connection, not being a force user, was bewildering.

 

Bit by bit Kylo could feel the space around him taking shape. It was a shift in the air. It became heavy, stuffed so full of emotion it was hard to breath. A mess of feelings in constant fluctuation, entangled with each other, impossible to tell one from the other. They wore Kylo down. It was too much to process. He wanted to scream out in pain, but would not stoop to such a level, not for Hux. Only Snoke had managed at that, and Kylo would rather die than see Hux succeed at it, as well.

 

**Weakness: he was full of it,**

 

Kylo focused on his breathing, feeling the air flow in and push out, each breath infusing him with the force. The hurt ebbed as his shield grew, and soon Kylo felt confident enough in his protection to open his eyes. He scanned his surroundings, but found them unfamiliar and otherworldly. He could only describe it as a maze of sorts; a patchwork of roads and bridges, overlapping and crisscrossing. Never had he looked upon such an intricate construction before, and it was almost a shame, Kylo thought, that this architectural masterpiece had fallen into disrepair. Deep cracks ran across beautifully adorned roads making them perilous traps, and rock-fall had caused many a bridge to crumble. What once must have been an efficient infrastructure was now reduced to a collection of broken pathways and a collection of ravines opening up to a never-ending darkness.

 

At one of these edges, staring down into the abyss, Kylo saw him – the contours of a familiar back, so narrow and fragile when stripped of the greatcoat.

 

“Hux,” Kylo breathed, and though he had planned to follow up, no more words found their way into his mouth. He did not know what to make out of this. His head was throbbing, making him slightly nauseous, and he was tired and wanted to leave, but could find no way out. The only option seemed to be to confront the General, but Kylo had nothing to say. He needn’t have worried, though, as Hux did love the sound of his own voice, after all. 

 

**still.**

 

_Oh, you deign to look at me now._ The figure snarled, _how very kind of you._

“Where are we?” Kylo asked, finding his voice again, choosing to ignore the other man’s jibe.

 

A cold laugh, very Hux-like, ran like a chill through the air. _It’s nice, is it not, a very… original design._ The figured seemed to tense, his shoulders rising for a brief moment as they stiffened. _Actually you’ve been here many times, tried to, at least. Perhaps you never looked around properly enough._ Another laugh rang through the ruins, bouncing of each rock and stone with inhuman echoes, _then again,_ the figure continued, relaxing, _it is just like you to be hasty and ignorant._

Kylo was about to bark a response, but had to swallow his own words as the figure, the one he had believed to be Hux, or at least some manifestation of him, turned to face him. Kylo couldn’t help the sharp intake of breath, nor could he stop himself from shuddering at the sight. It was Hux, but he was…broken. Scarred, marked, cracked, marred. Kylo’s mouth hovered open, searching for words, but finding they had abandoned him once more.

 

**Weakness and**

 

_Why do you look so shocked?_ The figure drawled as it closed the distance between them, stopping a few meters from Kylo. _Aah, dear me, I forgot. You’re not used to seeing me like this, are you?_

“Who are you?”

 

_Whatever do you mean? I am Hux, as much should be obvious._

“You are not Hux!”

 

The figured smiled. Kylo thought it did, anyway. It was hard to say as its mouth was hardly visible amongst the myriad of marks covering its face: just one more line amongst the others. The force wielder felt his face grow cold as he, in horrid astonishment, watched the figure run its icy fingers along his cheek, cradling him, leaning in closer. Whether it was because of disgust or panic Kylo could not tell, but he yanked himself loose from the…thing and rapidly drew his lightsaber. In response the thing, the Hux, cocked its head and blinked.

 

**regret.**

 

_Don’t you remember, Kylo, when you used to call me pretty? When you said I had such a nice face. Do you still think so?_

Kylo cannot face the thing, not head on. He lets his eyes rummage the space, looking up and down, anywhere, really, but at the creatures face. Those eyes, so cold and glassy he cannot look at them. Those eyes that are so similar to Hux’s, ones that Kylo has seen burning with pride and passion, have been replaced. Now they are devoid of all emotion, drained of both light and dark: they are a dead man’s eyes. Kylo cannot look at them, cannot accept that this is Hux. Cannot look into them and not remember what they used to look like, before when…

 

**Why?**

“You’re not Hux” Kylo repeats firmly, as if believing in the words will make them come true.

 

_Oh, but I am. I am Hux. Well, part of him. The part stowed away as a weakness, the hidden shame: the one you’ve been looking for so many time,_ the figure smiles a toothy grin, but he lacked teeth and his mouth became another ravine, _and yet you‘ve missed me, even though I’ve always been just here within you reach, had you simply called out to me._

It’s lying. It has to be. Hux is not… Hux is perfect. Hux has always been perfect. Kylo swallows; at least he always seemed to be. The General was so supposed to be different, not broken – not like Kylo. Kylo always knew it had to be too good to be true. His suspicions, though, could not even begin to compare with this…reality.

_He gets to play the strong gone, and I am the one to bear the scars._

The reason to why Kylo had always wanted to ruin Hux, to bring him to heel, was that stupid strength – the painted perfection. He wanted the world, the Order, to see what Hux really was. He wanted to shame and belittle Hux in front of them all. He wanted to laugh at Hux, call him weak and pathetic. Surely, if the Order saw what Hux really was like, they would forget all about Kylo’s own shortcomings and weaknesses. Kylo wanted to marvel in Hux’s misery, so that he could forget his own, but he wanted to do so form a safe distance.

 

This was all too personal.

 

**What is there to regret?**

_You may think me the weaker, but I am the strong one. I show my scars. I don’t hide what I feel._

It’s suddenly behind Kylo, the figure, sneakily wrapping its frigid limbs around his waist.

 

“I’ve never seen you” Kylo snaps, and tries to unpin those arms, but they seem to have stuck to him as fast as a hot tongue will to a cold metal bar on a chilly winter’s day.

 

_You have, Kylo_ , it whispers, its breath a winter-wind, y _ou are one of the few people to have met us both._

**Nothing.**

It tightens its arms and Kylo can feel his bones freeze and crack as it goes on speaking, _I might be the hurt, the shame, the indignation and insecurity,_ but then it suddenly eases its grip. A moment of silence follows, Kylo holding his breath in anticipation, preparing for whatever comes next. He almost jumps when he feels snow kiss the nape of his neck.

_But I was also the passion: the hot breath against your neck in a dark room at night, the fingers running down your spine. Sometimes, you see, in midst of all the urgency and want he could not keep me contained. I slipped out. In all those tender moments we shared I spilled out of him, and I bathe him in hope and trust in order to let him find a moments respite._

**Everything.**

The ground is hard and scrapes his elbows bloody as Kylo tumbles to the ground, suddenly thrown off balance. The Hux-thing has let go, moved back to where it was originally standing upon Kylo’s arrival. It comes across so small and defenceless as it stands on the edge, looking down into the deep dark below.

_And it cost us dearly, your betrayal. It cost us his sanity._

It speaks softly. Its words are nearly swallowed by the ravine, but Kylo hears them loud and clear. They’re a howling storm, teeth-clattering thunder, and bore straight into the core of his mind. Hux never spoke like that, never displayed any emotion, and that this…thing does, it confuses Kylo. A juxtaposition beyond his comprehension.  

 

The Hux-thing turns around. It looks sad, or maybe that is just a figment of Kylo’s imagination, as no emotion could possibly take form on such a fractured face. Nonetheless…

_Tell me I am pretty now, Kylo._

But Kylo cannot. There are no words in this space. He’s lost them all. He feels himself starting to fade, and his surroundings start to dim and warm. He breathes a sigh of relief, glad that this…whatever connection he and Hux (?) shared is about to be severed.  

 

How wrong he was.

 

**It was beautiful.**

It’s not over. The warmth turns to heat, and the heat to a sweltering hellhole. It’s not over, it’s only escalating. Where Kylo once saw sadness he now only sees fury. Rage, anger, bitterness. This he knew. This he could deal with.

_You should know this hurt. You should feel it. Feel it burn in your soul._

And it does hurt. It burns. It’s scorching to the point where Kylo can’t breathe without his insides catching on fire, and he claws at his throat as it crisps into cinders from within. His lungs burn and his blood is boiling, and it feels like his skin is melting off his body.

 

_That’s right, suffer! Feel the pain like he does. Every waken moment. Every second he dreams. I am tired of acting like a buffer, Kylo. I’m done. When the snubber is gone the whole impact will be felt, and it hurts, doesn’t it, Kylo?_

 

But Kylo knows pain. Kylo is, in fact, very capable when it comes to handling pain. He inhales it, lets it fill him up, and makes it part of him. He embraces the pain, like he always has, and uses it. Pain has always made him stronger.

 

It’s the fever, Kylo realises. The heat is nothing but the fever.

 

“You’ll kill him if you don’t let me go!”

 

It gives the creature pause, and again it slightly tilts its head, cold eyes silently searching. Kylo doesn’t know if it found what it was looking for, but soon after it turns back toward the darkness, away from Kylo.   

 

_That’s alright, I’m quite sure he wants to die. Deep down. I am the one that clings to life. Not he._

 

“But if he goes, so do you.”

 

_Yes, but if you’re in here, trapped with us, also you will be robbed of your chance to escape._

“Pathetic,” Kylo snarls, and never has he felt more like Hux than in this moment. It’s what he would have said: the real Hux. Kylo doesn’t like it, feeling like Hux, yet he blurted out that one word without an ounce of hesitation.

 

_True, I suppose. I will convince him, then. Make him see that together we are stronger, him and me. When we reunite, no one, not even you, Kylo, will be able to stop us. I won’t hesitate again; this time I will shoot._

“I won’t give you the chance!” Kylo growls, activates his lightsaber and rushes at the creature. It doesn’t avoid the attack, even though it should have heard Kylo approaching. It doesn’t as much as flinch when the laser impales its body, the light from the sword glowing red like blood in the millions of cracks upon the creature’s skin. Kylo pulls the weapon back out, deactivating it. The creature stands there for another moment, a big hole in its gut. Round with burnt edges – a perfect circle.

 

And it speaks one final time.

_I’m not the one you need to kill, you imbecile, it’s him;_ it grins, steps over the edge, and vanishes into the dark.

**You’re still beautiful.**

When he comes to it Kylo finds himself lying on the cold durasteel floor of the medbay. Drenched in sweat he’s both cold and hot, and his elbows hurt. They are scraped bloody. For a moment or two he simply lies there, breathing, eyes dancing around the room, looking for the abomination. There is none to be found, only Hux. Pale, and still out cold.  Kylo’s wonders if it was killing the thing that set him free, or whether the thing, supposedly Hux, let him go. Did it really even matter?

 

No. It doesn’t matter, because it will never happen again. Kylo will personally see too that. He makes his way over to the sickbed, looming over the sleeping General. He grabs his lightsaber, rests the hilt against Hux’s neck, and moves his thumb to press the ignition mechanism.  

 

**But…**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand, so I happened to get a bit carried away writing again. I was going one direction, and I ended up here. Thank you to each and every one of you for reading my ramblings! :)  
> I hope you found it a worthwhile read and please leave a comment if you like. 
> 
> Writing this story is like therapy for me. I always come back to this when I feel like shit, and work through my emotions by putting pen to paper (or, I guess, tapping away at the keyboard). 
> 
> I am torn about how to end this. I never planned to write multiple chapters, it just happened. And then it happened again. Part of me wants to go all sad, dark or perhaps a bit bittersweet, the other part wants a more…healthy (if perhaps not happy) ending… any thoughts and/or opinions are always welcome!
> 
> Also, no, Hux does not have the force. I just think that everyone has something of the force inside them, and in my head the very strong emotions, which Hux has been suppressing for the better part of his life, have formed a storm cloud. Just as clouds in our world can be charged with electricity and have a thunderstorm, the Hux-could has been force-charged and had a force-storm. In other words I am just bending all force rules to follow my will and ignoring how they really work. :P


End file.
